


Player Three: Sherlock Holmes

by just_a_rosie



Series: A Game For Three Storyverse [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Rating May Change, Side Story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:29:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24811597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_a_rosie/pseuds/just_a_rosie
Summary: Scenes from A Game For Three in which main character, Artemis, was absent. Told from Sherlock's POV.(This is a side story to be read alongside A Game For Three. Please see A/N in Chapter 6 of A Game For Three for further details.)
Relationships: Jim Moriarty/Original Female Character(s), Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/Original Female Character(s)
Series: A Game For Three Storyverse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794643
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do hope you're reading this alongside my story A Game For Three. Otherwise you will be very lost...
> 
> Apologies that I write only the bare minimum for these scenes, but I'm not very comfortable writing from the POV of a character that I didn't create.
> 
> TW: Mentions of possible psychopathic and/or sociopathic behavior.

Sherlock smirks as a small flame flicks to life out of the barrel of the fake gun that the serial killer cabbie is pointing at him.

"I know a real gun when I see one," Sherlock tells the man.

The cabbie turns off the lighter and sighs.

"The girl was the only other one to ever tell the difference," he says as he puts the lighter aside.

"Girl? What girl?" Sherlock's mind races as he takes in this new bit of information. If this girl had known the gun was a fake then she would have been able to walk away as Sherlock had just insisted he himself could do. And if she got away, surely she would have called the police. But the police were none the wiser to a serial killing cab driver, so that obviously wasn't the case.

"The girl," the cabbie says, putting emphasis on the 'the'. "The girl your fan sent. Had to test me out for my sponsorship, didn't they?" The cabbie asks rhetorically. "Pretty little thing she was. Clever, too."

Ah, yes, Sherlock's fan. The one that the man just can't seem to stop speaking cryptically about.

"And how do you know this girl herself wasn't my supposed fan?" Sherlock questions.

When the man stays silent, Sherlock knows that he must have made a mistake. But what was it? How could he have possibly known for sure that this girl wasn't- oh.

"Oh. Oh, I see. This fan of mine is a male then. Interesting," Sherlock says as he presses the pads of his fingers together in that habit of his. "Well, you have been very helpful indeed. I look forward to the court case," Sherlock says as he gets up and heads to the door.

"Just before you go, did you figure it out?" The man calls out, pausing Sherlock's steps just before the door. "Which one's the good bottle?"

"Of course. Child's play," Sherlock tells the man.

"Well, which one then?" The cabbie tempts as Sherlock starts to open the door. "Which one would you have picked? Just so I know whether I could have beaten you."

Sherlock lets the door close again.

"Come on, play the game," the man chuckles.

Sherlock walks back towards the table. He gives into temptation, like he always does, as he snatches up the bottle closest to the cabbie.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of possible psychopathic and/or sociopathic behavior.

Sherlock is not having fun. There are people in his flat that he doesn't want there to be, celebrating a holiday that he doesn't care about. On top of that, something has been bothering him all day and he cannot figure out what it is. Something feels off about the flat, and not just because of all of John and Mrs. Hudson's decorating. It's like something is miss-

"Sherlock, dear, why don't you play something for us?" Mrs. Hudson asks, breaking Sherlock from his reverie. Well, at least it was better than her last request for him to wear a ridiculous headband with antlers sticking out of it.

Sherlock agrees and walks over to his violin. He reaches for the violin, but freezes when he sees a small, folded piece of parchment tucked into the strings near the top of the instrument. He carefully removes the parchment and begins to unfold it.

The smell hits him instantly. Cardamom, pimento, and salted caramel. He barely has to consult his library of perfumes to know that it's Penhaligon's Changing Constance. And there is only one woman he has ever known who wears that scent. The same woman he knows who could easily afford the two-hundred-and-twenty pound, seventy-five milliliter bottle, but has probably never legitimately bought a bottle in her life. Sherlock feels the urge to throw Mrs. Hudson's holiday candle out the window. If it wasn't for that damn thing, he'd have noticed the scent sooner, would have known that she had been in the flat sooner. The spicy perfume blends in so perfectly with the scent of gingerbread.

He finishes opening the note and quickly reads it.

'Sherlock,  
Merry Christmas. I don't normally celebrate, but I figured I'd give you a gift this year. So here it is: Did you ever figure out what Jimmy's surname used to be?  
-Artemis'

The corner has a deep maroon stain in the shape of puckered lips from where she kissed the parchment.

"Sherlock?" John questions, coming to stand beside him. "What's that?"

"Nothing!" Sherlock says, a bit too quickly and a bit too loudly. "It's nothing. Just a Christmas letter," Sherlock continues as he quickly folds the note again and puts it into his inner jacket pocket.

"Oh? Who from?" John asks suspiciously. Sherlock isn't sure if it's better or worse that John probably suspects that it's from Irene Adler.

"Doesn't matter. Now, I believe I was going to play something for this gathering," Sherlock says as he picks up his violin. He refuses to call this a party.

John still looks suspicious, but he relents.

It's as Sherlock is playing that he notices that there is only one ashtray on the coffee table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated. (Seriously I promise you that as long as your goal is to better my writing and not tear me down, I will not be offended if you have a critique)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of possible psychopathic and/or sociopathic behavior.

It's a Thursday in early January when Sherlock is finally able to solve the question Artemis posed to him on Christmas Eve. He had tried to look up school records, he actually already had a lot of them, but there aren't any pictures accompanying those records. And with several Jameses and with two of them deceased, Sherlock is unable to figure out which James was the original name of James Moriarty. At least with public records anyway. But public records aren't the only records schools keep.

So, on that Thursday in early January, is when it finally arrives. Sherlock is working on an experiment in the kitchen when John comes up holding a box.

"Parcel for you," John says, putting it on the coffee table.

"Where from?" Sherlock asks.

John takes a moment to check.

"Looks like… Sussex. Why? You expecting something?" John questions as Sherlock quickly puts away his experiment. He learned from the fire incident with Artemis not to just abandon his experiments.

"Yes, it's for a case," Sherlock says as he picks up the box and heads to his room. John looks confused by this, but at least he doesn't call after Sherlock as he closes and locks the door behind him.

When Sherlock opens it, he finds it to be exactly what he was hoping it would be. A yearbook. He had managed to get in contact with someone who went to school with Carl and was willing to send him their old yearbook. Much in the same way Artemis had tricked them, Sherlock had pretended to be a journalist who was doing a story on the case now that it has been reopened. The woman he had contacted was more than happy to oblige, having apparently been good friends with Carl.

Sherlock opens the yearbook and is greeted by a 'In Memory of' page dedicated to Carl Powers. He quickly flips to the Year Seven pages and scans over the pictures.

Sherlock pauses on a very familiar looking female. 'Artemis Constance Doyle' it reads under the picture. Constance. Changing Constance. Sherlock wonders if it's a coincidence. Perhaps her choice in perfume wasn't based on the price tag or appreciation of the scent, but on the name of the scent.

Sherlock continues on, only ever pausing when he runs into the name James. There are a few, but none of them look like they could grow up to be James Moriarty. Not until he gets to the name James Andrew Tobin. The boy has a neutral expression on his face despite the fact that he should be smiling for the camera. His features are familiar enough, but it's his eyes that truly have Sherlock convinced of the boy's future as James Moriarty. And not just the dark shade of brown that they are. They have that same unsettling feel to them. Almost like something is moving behind them.

Tobin. That was the answer to Artemis' question. That was her Christmas present to him. But what did it mean? What was it for?

He knew it was a long shot, but he had thought that maybe, just maybe, it'd be a four letter surname and could possibly be the passcode to Irene's phone. He is sure that the fact that the letter showed up at the same time as the phone is no coincidence. He knows that Moriarty is connected to Irene somehow. But knowing that doesn't help in this instance. Tobin is five letters and the passcode is four characters.

So now all Sherlock is left with are more questions than he started with.

What is the passcode to Irene's phone?

How does knowing the name Tobin benefit him in any way?

How are Irene Adler and James Moriarty connected?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated. (Seriously I promise you that as long as your goal is to better my writing and not tear me down, I will not be offended if you have a critique)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of possible psychopathic and/or sociopathic behavior.

"There you are, brother. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight," Sherlock says as he passes the now unlocked phone to his brother, his eyes never leaving the woman in front of him.

"I'm certain they will," Mycroft says as he takes the phone. "And what about the other passcode?"

Sherlock freezes, thrown by his brother's question.

"What other passcode?"

Mycroft takes out and unlocks his own phone. A few button clicks and he gets to the correct screen.

"'Once Sherlock figures out the four character code, ask him for the five character one'," Mycroft reads aloud.

Sherlock snatches Mycroft's phone to see the message himself. His brother hasn't named the contact, but considering the text above it, Sherlock can guess who it's from.

Sherlock force-trades phones with Mycroft and begins searching Irene's camera phone for somewhere to enter another code. Finding none, he simply types the letters T-O-B-I-N while on the phone's home screen. A hidden file instantly pops up. A document opens as a sound file begins to play.

Sherlock reads the document-

'Thank you for the Christmas present, Ms. Adler.'

-as an electronic voice warns of a security breach.

"Security alert. All documents uploaded to computer-dot-Doyle, file name Irene Adler. Security alert. All pictures uploaded to computer-dot-Doyle, file name Irene Adler. Security alert. All video uploaded to computer-dot-Doyle, file name Irene Adler."

"What? No, that's impossible. It must be a trick!" Irene says, letting the tears that had been shining in her eyes fall in her panic. "I have software that prevents the uploading of files. She couldn't have possibly-"

"If it's software that you used, it can be removed," Mycroft cuts in. "Even with heavy encryption, Ms. Doyle could have at the very least disabled the software long enough to upload the contents of the phone. All she would need is access to it."

Irene's eyes widen at the implication.

"I confess I gave Moriarty's Girl my phone the night before Sherlock found it in his flat. But I did not give her the code to get into it. She couldn't have access to it," Irene defends herself.

"And you expect me to believe that?" Mycroft questions. "You expect me to believe that some random woman-"

"But she's not some random woman," Sherlock cuts in, his mind still racing to figure out what exactly was going on here. "Oh, she is clever. She is very clever," Sherlock mumbles to himself, so lost in his own thoughts that he misses the hurt look on Irene's face as he compliments another woman.

"And what do you suppose we do now, brother mine?" Mycroft questions.

"Redouble your efforts to catch Artemis and Moriarty?" Sherlock suggests, though it sounds more like a question. "What else can you do that you aren't already doing?"

Mycroft takes a calming breath.

"And why, exactly, would he let us know that he has this information?"

Sherlock is puzzled by his brother's choice of words.

"He didn't let you know. She did," Sherlock says, stressing the difference in pronouns.

"Fine," Mycroft says with a roll of his eyes. "Then why would Ms. Doyle let us know that she has this information?"

"To remind me that there are three players in this little game of ours," Sherlock says, grinning madly as he makes for the exit.

"What about me?" Irene speaks up, making Sherlock pause. "What are you going to do with me?"

Ah, yes. The Woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated. (Seriously I promise you that as long as your goal is to better my writing and not tear me down, I will not be offended if you have a critique)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Canonical nicotine addiction and mentions of possible psychopathic and/or sociopathic behavior.

Sherlock is already bored of this case. He's edgy from the lack of nicotine in his system and this man, their client, Henry Knight as the television screen proclaims him to be, decided to show them a documentary instead of telling them directly about the case. He wishes the man would just smoke already. Then he could at least get some second hand nicotine. Not nearly enough, but better than nothing.

"I know what killed my father," the Henry on-screen says and Sherlock, having had enough, turns off the television.

"What did you see?" Sherlock asks Henry, getting to the point of all of this.

"Oh. I… I was just about to say," Henry said, looking between Sherlock and the now black screen.

"Yes, in a TV interview. I prefer to do my own editing," Sherlock says as he presses the pads of his fingers together in front of him, his lips pressed to his pointer fingers.

"Yes. Sorry, yes, of course," Henry says as he reaches into his pocket. "Excuse me." He pulls out a napkin and wipes his nose. Sherlock's eyes zero in on the details. The design is that of those used by the trains in the area. The strength of the coffee stain on it suggests he doesn't take milk or creamer. The familiar number written on it is at a slant that indicates the person who wrote it was across from him. The blue handwriting is familiar and obviously female, so it was a woman. The black, male handwriting over the stain indicates that he was interested in her, but the fact that he used it as a tissue just now suggests that he's had second thoughts. So obviously he took the train and was sat across from-

Wait.

Familiar number and handwriting. Very familiar number and handwriting. A number he had stolen from John's phone so long ago and still remained in his contacts to this day despite being deleted from John's own contacts. Handwriting he'd seen quite often, notes scribbled in a notepad mindlessly. Notes that she had no real intent on ever using for a story.

Sherlock knows then and there that he's going to take this case. All he needs is for Henry to say something marginally interesting enough so that Sherlock has a reason to go that isn't a number scribbled on a train napkin. It'd be best if John was focused on the case rather than the involvement of his ex-friend, whatever that involvement may be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated. (Seriously I promise you that as long as your goal is to better my writing and not tear me down, I will not be offended if you have a critique)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Deception, graphic death (sort of), and mentions of possible psychopathic and/or sociopathic behavior.

So there was no key code. Part of Sherlock is annoyed that all of this was for a key code that didn't exist. The other part of Sherlock was actually glad that it didn't exist. A code like that shouldn't be in anybody's hands.

"I knew you'd fall for it," Moriarty says walking back towards Sherlock. "That's your weakness. You always want everything to be clever." Moriarty passes Sherlock. "Now shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building, nice way to do it."

"Do it? Do - do what?" Sherlock stutters out, facing away from Moriarty. He already knows what. He has a plan. He turns to Moriarty. "Yes, of course. My suicide."

"'Genius detective proved to be a fraud'. I read it in the paper so it must be true," Moriarty says, dumbing down his voice as Sherlock approaches where he's standing at the edge of the roof. "I love newspapers. Fairy tales." They both look over the edge at the pavement below. "And pretty grim ones, too."

"I can still prove that you created an entirely false identity," Sherlock says, desperation in his voice as he turns towards Moriarty.

"Oh, just kill yourself. It's a lot less effort," Moriarty says, sounding exasperated and bored.

Sherlock paces as he appears to struggle with his decision.

"Go on. For me. Please!" Moriarty prods, drawing out the 'please' until Sherlock lunges at him, grabbing him by the collar of his coat. Sherlock lifts the much shorter man easily enough and turns so that he's holding him on the edge of the roof. One good shove is all it would take. Moriarty looks at him blankly, emotionlessly. Sherlock shakes him. His face remains blank, but he holds up his hands in mock-surrender.

"You're insane!" Sherlock hisses, his breath coming in huffs in his fury.

"You're just getting that now?" Moriarty questions.

Sherlock shakes him harder, threatening to drop him. Moriarty lets out a noise, but Sherlock can't tell if it's actual fear or just mock-terror.

"Okay," Moriarty says when the shaking stops. "Let me give you a little extra incentive. Your friends will die if you don't."

"John," Sherlock says.

"Not just John. Everyone," Moriarty mocks.

"Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock says.

"Everyone," Moriarty prods.

"Lestrade," Sherlock says.

"Three bullets. Three gunmen. Three victims. There's no stopping them now," Moriarty tells Sherlock.

Three. Only three. He doesn't have eyes on Molly.

Sherlock pulls the grinning Moriarty back to safety.

"Unless my people see you jump," Moriarty says. "You can have me arrested. You can torture me. You can do anything you like with me, but nothing's going to prevent them from pulling the trigger," Moriarty continues, sounding quite proud of himself. "Your only three friends in the world will die, unless-"

"Unless I kill myself," Sherlock finishes for him. "Complete your story."

"You've got to admit, that's sexier," Moriarty says, back to a more casual tone.

"And I die in disgrace," Sherlock continues.

"Of course. That's the point of this," Moriarty tells him before looking over the edge as members of Sherlock's homeless network begin to mill about. "Oh, you've got an audience now. Off you pop. Go on."

Sherlock slowly walks up to the edge of the roof.

Sherlock knew that Moriarty would pull something like this. He knows that the only way he's going to get out of this is by putting LAZARUS into effect. The problem is that he doesn't know where Artemis is. He hadn't been surprised when he walked on the roof to find only Moriarty, but he had hoped she would be there. He has to find out where she is, because she could cause major problems if she's nearby.

"I told you how this ends. Your death is the only thing that's going to call off those killers. I'm certainly not going to do it."

And there's Sherlock's opening.

"Would you give me one moment, please? One moment of privacy?" Sherlock asks. "Please?"

Something flashes in Moriarty's eyes, but it's gone before he can decide what it is. He thinks it might have been some mix of smugness and understanding. The smugness Sherlock can understand, but the understanding, like he knows what Sherlock needs the privacy for, confuses him. He must have misinterpreted it.

"Of course," Moriarty says and starts to walk across the roof.

Sherlock quickly sends the LAZARUS text to Mycroft. He puts his phone back and begins to laugh.

"What?" Sherlock hears Moriarty ask from behind him. "What is it?"

Sherlock turns and grins as Moriarty glares back at him.

"What did I miss?" Moriarty asks furiously.

Sherlock hops off the ledge and back onto the roof.

"You're not going to do it?" He questions as he walks towards his nemesis. "So the killers can be called off then. There's a recall code, or a word, or a number," Sherlock says, his tone mocking. He circles Moriarty like a vulture circles its next meal. "I don't have to die if I've got you," Sherlock sing-songs.

"Oh!" Moriarty says in mock-surprise and chuckles. "You think you can make me stop the order. You think you can make me do that?"

"Yes. And so do you," Sherlock says, continuing his circling.

"Sherlock, your big brother and all the King's horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to," Moriarty says confidently.

"Yes, but I'm not my brother, remember?" Sherlock says, stopping in front of Moriarty. "I am you. Prepared to do anything. Prepared to burn. Prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you."

They stare each other down from what is admittedly a bit too close of a distance, but Sherlock isn't about to admit his mistake by being the one to take a step back.

"You have a weakness and it isn't just your changeability," Sherlock tells him. "All I need to get you to call off your snipers is your little girlfriend."

"You don't have her," Moriarty reminds him, his voice holding a dangerous edge to it. A warning to drop the topic.

"Oh, how long do you think it would take her to get here if I asked her? Five minutes? Ten?" Sherlock asks, fishing for Artemis' location.

"She wouldn't," Moriarty says, but his eyes betray his doubt in his own words.

Damnit. That wasn't the response he'd been looking for.

"Oh, we both know that's not true. She likes me," Sherlock says, which is currently a lie. She may have liked him at one point, but he's said some things that have made her rather angry with him. Admittedly he'd been unnecessarily cruel the last couple times they'd spoken to each other. He couldn't help it, he's angry with her. Despite the fact that he now knows who she truly is, the betrayal he felt when he saw her at that pool still lingers with him. But he doubts she's told Moriarty anything about his unkind words, so as far as Moriarty is concerned Artemis still likes Sherlock.

A near murderous look falls over Moriarty's features.

"You wouldn't hurt her," he tells Sherlock. "You like her too much."

"I confess that she is intriguing and perhaps I do even like her a bit," Sherlock says, and he is being honest about that. "But if it's a choice between her and John? Her and my only three friends in the world as you so put it?" Sherlock lets Moriarty fill in the blank.

"Nah," Moriarty says, shaking his head. "You talk big. Nah. You're ordinary. You're on the side of the angels."

"Oh, I may be on the side of the angels," Sherlock says, his voice deadly serious. "But don't think for one second that I am one of them."

Sherlock watches as realization sparks behind Moriarty's eyes. And what almost looks like… confirmation? Satisfaction?

"No. You're not," Moriarty says slowly. Moriarty's smile makes Sherlock's skin crawl, there's just something off about it. "I see. You're not ordinary. No. You're me." He lets out a breath of laughter and his voice gets higher, taking on an insane quality. "You're me. Thank you." His voice returns to its natural, deeper state. "Sherlock Holmes," he says, holding out his hand.

Sherlock slowly takes hold of the offered hand. It's nothing like how he might have expected it to be. Not cold and clammy like a snake's or a corpse's. No, it's warm and dry despite the chill in the air. Soft in a way that he probably should have expected since the man himself said that he doesn't like to get his hands dirty. Smaller than Sherlock's and yet they fit together so… comfortably. Near perfectly in fact. Moriarty's words said through a man strapped with semtex echoes through his mind. "We were made for each other, Sherlock."

"Thank you," Moriarty says again, bringing Sherlock back to the present. "Bless you." He takes a deep breath as a sense of decision, of finality, hangs in the air. "As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends. You've got a way out." Moriarty nods. "Well, good luck with that." He opens his mouth wide and suddenly there is a gun in the hand that isn't holding his.

It all happens so fast. Maybe Sherlock could have stopped him if he hadn't been caught so off guard. Maybe if he had had his dominant hand accessible. But he didn't. James Moriarty sticks a gun in his mouth and fires it. Blood shoots out the back of his head. He falls to the ground and blood pools out of the kill shot. His eyes stare up into the sky blankly. His mouth still pulled into that sickening smile.

Sherlock has seen and been unaffected by many corpses in his time. He's seen them in varying states. Burned, decayed, disassembled, etc. So why was a simple gunshot to the head making him feel absolutely nauseated?

Sherlock tears his eyes away from his dead nemesis and begins to pace in his panic. His friends are in danger and Artemis is still out there and able to tell the snipers to take the shot if she sees Sherlock survive. Maybe if he calls her-

Sherlock's phone buzzes in his pocket.

'LAZARUS IS GO'

He's out of time.

Sherlock walks to the edge of the roof, phone in hand as John's cab pulls up. All he can do now is hope that Artemis isn't nearby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated. (Seriously I promise you that as long as your goal is to better my writing and not tear me down, I will not be offended if you have a critique)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated. (Seriously I promise you that as long as your goal is to better my writing and not tear me down, I will not be offended if you have a critique)


End file.
